


Sleep Don't Visit

by HunterPeverell



Series: Welcome to Glory [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Mother's Day, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 22:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3912979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunterPeverell/pseuds/HunterPeverell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was just a ghost, wasn't he? Or did he once exist?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep Don't Visit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mmouse15](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmouse15/gifts).



> Happy Mother's Day, mom!

The ghost skimmed across the ground, leaving no footprints or any other trace that it had been there. It paused next to a tree, the drooping branches shielding a large white gravestone. Its eyes skimmed the cemetery, but, seeing nothing, stepped cautiously out.

It was one of those days, he had been told by a grocer several minutes ago as he refueled, where one just wanted to curl up under a blanket with a mug of hot cocoa and a good book.

The Soldier did not feel those needs. It did not understand what cocoa, blankets, or a good book had to do with the grey, overcast day that spattered rain at odd intervals.

It stole across the damp grass and through the rows, looking at each name etched into the stone.

There were names it could not pronounce, names that it did not know the history of. _In loving memory. Here lies. The sun will shine brighter because they were here. Beloved by family, cherished by friends. The world is a richer place because they once lived._

The Soldier squinted up at the dull sky. The sun did not seem brighter, though it may be; it wasn’t like it could remember if the sun had ever been duller. The world did not seem richer, but then again, it could not remember if the world had ever been worse off than now.

It did not understand the sentiments behind each marking. It did not understand why someone had carved such things into a slab of stone above a long-dead corpse.

The Soldier knew corpses. It knew the crack of bones and the rending of flesh and the screams of the dying.

It knew the dead. It did not concern itself with the body after the mission.

Is this what happened to its victims? They were lowered into the soaking earth with nothing to own but a stone with a repetitious saying plastered across its face?

The Soldier shrank away from one stone that read; _Romans 12:12 Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer._

Why should it pray? God did not exist. All that existed were the missions. Now even those were gone. What hope was there, for it?

_I’m with you ‘til the end of the line._

The Soldier _knew_ those words. It _knew_ them. It had . . . it had said them before?

It did not remember.

But it _knew_ the face. It knew that face on a man half his size with as much attitude. But how? Where?

It knew the pain of the chair. It knew the cold of the tank. It did not remember the chair or the tank outside of dim lightings of half-remembered memories, but it knew in its bones. The screams echoed in its ears. The cold lashed at its flesh.

_You know me._

The Soldier did.

It stopped in front of a cluster of gravestones. It was not interested in many of them, but it did look at two.

Both belonged to females. One had died in 1945. The other in 2001.

_In loving memory of Rebecca Marie Brown-Barnes_

_Devorah Barnes. Ever waiting for her children to return._

Here, the Soldier thought, here is the proof that it was once someone.

It had been to the museum, had seen the exhibit on James “Bucky” Barnes. But, here, in this little cemetery was the last of the proof.

The Soldier sank slowly to the ground in front of the two graves.

“Mom,” it—he—whispered, trying the words out in a mouth that screamed more than spoke. “Mom, I’ve come home.”

The Soldier who was once James “Bucky” Barnes rested his flesh hand on the stone of his long-forgotten mother and bent his head.

"I've come home," he said. He wondered if that was true.

The rain continued falling.

**Author's Note:**

> It's rather short. Sorry. Hope you enjoyed it anyway!


End file.
